Home-Wrecker
by Michael L. Smith, JR
Las Vegas, NV

She cries at night, when no one is there to watch
To hear her anguished sobs as she wrings her hands
To feel her despair in the air, a physical thing in its enormity
A heart-wrenching lullaby as she drifts off into slumber
A restless sleep filled with dreams, nightmares
Full of the source of all her pain and sadness
That home-wrecker, tearing her family apart
Ripping their bonds to pieces, thread by thread
Argument by argument, tear by tear
There are a lot of tears these days
For her, anyway, always for her alone
Left to handle these feelings of depression
All alone, long abandoned by her child and husband
That home-wrecker, tearing her family apart
She fingers her ring when no one is looking
The dull gold reflecting her life almost comically
Having once looked so nice, only to fade with age
She eventually exits her hysterics, fearful
Ever mindful not to wake her now-grown child
Stumbling to the kitchen, tears still streaming down her face
A bottle, forgotten, sits upon the table
A slight sheen of sweat dripping down it slowly
In a moment of fury, she grips the neck
And throws it against the wall, shattering the fragile glass
Like so many pieces of her life, never to be picked up
The label slides down slowly, “Bud Light”
That home-wrecker, tearing her family apart
Ripping their bonds to pieces, drink by drink